


Drivers Education

by Lunasong365



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Driving, Gen, The Bentley - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 03:16:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7249810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunasong365/pseuds/Lunasong365
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale decides it's time to learn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drivers Education

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to [internetpiratearrr](http://archiveofourown.org/users/internetpiratearrr/pseuds/internetpiratearrr) who was the perfect beta for this story.

If he’d been perfectly honest with himself, Aziraphale didn’t need Crowley to drive him around. He didn’t even need to fly to get where he wanted to go, as angels are capable of materialising on the spot.

But Aziraphale wasn’t perfect, and he was no longer honest. He’d spent too many years on Earth enjoying human culture and the company of a certain demon for that. He _was_ currently sitting in the passenger seat of the Bentley, gazing over at Crowley, whose determined glare was fiercely focussed out the windscreen.

“Ah, _blessit!_ ” Crowley cursed. “Get off the road, you… you dickhead! You idiot! Where’d you learn to drive?” He half-turned in his seat and gestured rudely at the passing car.

Aziraphale sighed. It wasn’t a sigh of exasperation; far from it. It was more like the sigh of a starry-eyed young girl who is doodling hearts in the margin of her maths homework that link her initials with those of one of her classmates.

“Oh, dear,” said Aziraphale. “I suppose it isn’t the easiest thing.”

“What? What isn’t the easiest thing?" Crowley was expertly manoeuvering around a lagging articulated lorry. He overtook the lumbering vehicle and swerved back into the near side lane.

“It’s really an exercise in trust, you see.” Aziraphale primly folded his hands in his lap as the Bentley abruptly decelerated to avoid a small blue Mini that had merged onto the motorway from a slip road.

Crowley slammed the gearstick into fourth and moved his feet off clutch, on accelerator. He stared at Aziraphale. “What the hell are you on about now?”

“All these people on the road, all trusting that each knows how to drive so that they can all share the same road at 70 mph without crashing into one another.”

“Oh come on, Aziraphale, you know that’s not true. Remember that pile-up we drove past last week right about in this same area? And just look at the idiots out driving today!” Crowley had not put much thought into the concept of trust when it came to humans and/or driving. He had maintained the Bentley without a scratch for all these years because that was the way Crowley knew it should be. It was inconceivable to him that road obstacles could be anything more than the moving blips on a video game that one could set to whatever difficulty level one desired to be challenged by that day.

“Driving is not about trust. It’s about freedom! The freedom to go where you want, when you want, with _who_ you want,” he glanced side-eyed at Aziraphale, “and play the music you want as loud as you want!” The demon punched a few buttons on the audio system. The display information was belied by the heavy bass beat that began to thump through the Bentley. Crowley cringed and turned down the volume.

“Shostakovich,” Aziraphale read. “I’m fairly certain this isn’t one of the pieces he wrote for the glory of the Stalinist regime. Anyway, how does one learn to drive? I suppose there are a lot of rules of the road to learn and parts of the car and how to fix them and… “

“Mmm,” Crowley noncommittally hummed, a bit fazed by the angel’s sudden enthusiasm. He couldn’t recall learning any traffic rules, at least any that applied to him. He knew the parts of a car like the bonnet and boot, and the tyres and doors. And he knew how to fix the clutch with a thought, but he hadn’t had to do that in well over eighty years. He vaguely recalled a _slight_ learning curve had been involved.

_“Now, Mr Crowley,” Tim Birkin had coached, “you’ll want to ease your left foot off the clutch whilst applying your right foot to the accelerator and at the same time move the gear out of neutral into the next gear up, which you’ll see marked on the gearstick pattern, but not until the RPMs reach about 3000…”_

_“DAMMIT!” Crowley had shouted as the Bentley had stalled again. He was determined to learn how to drive and leave horses behind forever. It had absolutely been the right decision. The Bentley was now so much more than a car. It was… part of his aesthetic, his identity, his…_

“Will you teach me how to drive?” the angel was saying.

“No,” said Crowley flatly. "Absolutely not. I am not putting ‘L’ plates on this car. You’ll have to hire a car if you want me to teach you how to drive.”

“Okay,” agreed Aziraphale. “But you’ll have to hire the car. They won’t rent to an unlicenced driver.”

***

Aziraphale was sitting at his computer desk, surrounded by official DVSA theory manuals, when Crowley pulled up in front of the bookshop in a white Ford Fiesta. The demon delightedly sounded the horn. _beep-da-da-beep-beep_

Annoyed, Aziraphale poked his head outside the shop. “Crowley!” he admonished. “You’re disturbing my neighbours!” 

Crowley grinned. “This is the smallest, most disgusting car I could find on the lot. Its engine is as underpowered as its horn! Are you ready to learn how to drive?” He jumped out of the vehicle and joined Aziraphale inside the shop.

“I’ll have you know,” huffed the angel, “I just passed my practice theory test.” He shuffled in the desk drawer. “And here’s my provisional licence. I’m all ready.” He grabbed the theory books and started out the door.

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Crowley interjected. “What’s with the books?”

Aziraphale looked down at them and shrugged. “I thought if I came to a spot where I didn’t know what to do, I could stop and look up the answer.”

Crowley laughed. “Driving doesn’t work like that! Once you’re on the road, you have to keep going! Besides,” he added, ”that’s why you have an experienced driver along… me.” He handed Aziraphale the keys and gestured to the driver’s side. “Go on!”

Aziraphale set his books in the backseat, then fixed his ‘L’ plates on the front and back of the car. He seated himself carefully in the driver’s seat, then adjusted his mirrors and fastened his seat belt. Crowley climbed in the other side and fastened his seat belt, too.

“Don’t fancy getting discorporated by an angel today,” he grinned. “Now look. This pedal is the clutch; that’s for your left foot. The brake and accelerator are operated by your right foot. You use your left hand to change gears, and your right hand to make rude gestures out the window! Just a little joke! Here’s the hand brake. Engage it, because we’re going to practise shifting before we even turn the car on.”

Crowley worked patiently with Aziraphale until the angel was confident he had the feel of the pedals. Aziraphale looked gratefully at Crowley, in the odd position of sitting to his left. “You know, Crowley, I am ever so thankful that you are taking the time to teach me…”

“Yeah, whatever.” The demon rolled his eyes. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Aziraphale ensured the gearstick was in neutral, depressed the clutch, and turned the key in the ignition. He released the hand brake whilst pressing the brake pedal with his right foot and the clutch with his left, then moved into first gear before taking his foot off the clutch and switching his right foot to the accelerator. The car lurched forward. “I did it!” he shouted delightedly. “I’m driving!”

“You’d better stop,” pointed out Crowley. “We’re at the end of the street.”

Aziraphale successfully turned left onto Waldour Street and crept along at a steady 20 mph. Amazingly, no one honked their horn at him. As he approached each traffic signal, the lights turned amber, then green. It was as if he was driving in a bubble of good will through Central London. Aziraphale again turned left, this time down Oxford Street.

“You see,” Aziraphale told Crowley. “I knew this was possible.”

“What?” replied the demon distractedly. He’d been covertly enjoying watching Aziraphale as the angel concentrated on the process of driving. _There really is something to be said about sitting in the passenger seat._ His student was oblivious to the adoring ( ** _NO,_** _approving!)_ gaze of his teacher.

“Driving at a reasonable speed down Oxford Street,” Aziraphale answered. “Is there anywhere in particular you want me to drive?”

“Yes,” responded Crowley. “You can drive me to drink. Let’s go back to the bookshop.”

***

 

Aziraphale never did get his driving licence. He was content to have had the experience of driving. Crowley continued to drive the angel where he needed to go, and Aziraphale was happy to let him do it.

**Author's Note:**

> 'Tim Birkin' refers to Sir Henry "Tim" Birkin, one of the original 'Bentley Boys' influential in developing Bentley race cars in the 1920s.  
> You can take the DVSA practice theory test here: https://www.gov.uk/take-practice-theory-test


End file.
